


don't let me cave in

by casdoms (moffwithhishead)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, Mark of Cain, Near Future, Season/Series 10, background/hinted at dean and cas, cas and claire's relationship, dean and claire's relationship, mentions of future character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:11:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3696992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moffwithhishead/pseuds/casdoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He turns around for a moment in a small circle and scrubs a hand over his mouth, “Look, I just wanted to tell you this before something happens to me. Or to Cas. And this isn’t - this isn’t some emotional manipulation bullshit or whatever. I’m all for you hating Cas.” </p><p>She snorts and shifts uncomfortably on the bed, “And the world’s Worst Best Friend Award goes to...”</p><p>“Fuck you,” Dean replies with no bite behind it - in fact, it sounds a little fond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't let me cave in

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "don't let me cave in" by the wonder years.
> 
> this has been bouncing around in my head for a few months and I couldn't stop thinking of it this afternoon so I finally sat down and wrote it out. I understand, and will wholeheartedly defend claire's right to hate cas (even if it makes me sad). this is super self indulgent because I just want somebody to tell her this.

She definitely should have looked through the peephole before she opened the door. 

“How the fuck did you find me?” She hisses and takes a step into the hallway to check and make sure that Dean Winchester is alone.

He takes a step forward and Claire reels back, tries to slam the door in his face, but Dean’s boot stops her.

“Move your fucking foot!” Claire growls and shoves the door harder, her adrenaline rising so quickly that her hands start shaking.  _He’s going to kill her_. He’s going to kill her. 

Dean grunts a little when she throws her whole body against the door, “Jesus Christ kid, can you just -” He sets a hand on the door and pushes it just hard enough that Claire loses her grip on it, “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Claire stumbles back into the motel room and grabs the gun she keeps in her backpack now.

It’s not loaded or anything, she doesn’t even have bullets, but it’s heavy as shit and creepy ass dudes usually leave her alone when she shoves it in their kidneys. 

“Get the hell out!” Her voice is as threatening and deep as she can get it.

Dean manages to stop just short of rolling his eyes as he pushes the door open but makes no move to step into the room, “Give me five minutes, okay? Five minutes and then I’ll leave you the hell alone for the rest of eternity if you want. I won’t even come in the room.”

He holds up his hands in surrender but his face is still hard and more-or-less emotionless.

She can’t fight him off physically, nor does she want to, and the gun is legitimately useless in this situation. In conclusion: she’s fucked.

“Fine,” Claire growls again and keeps the gun trained on Dean, “Talk.” 

“Awesome,” he nods and looks around the room from the doorway, “Nice digs.”

She sneers a little, “Fuck you.” 

Dean smirks to himself and shakes his head fondly, “Look, kid - Claire. I know that you think I’m a monster.” 

“Yeah, cause you are,” she growls and shoves the gun forward a little, her heart racing at the memory.

“That’s still up in the air,” he concedes after a moment and sighs, shoving his hand into his pockets. “Claire, listen, I... I don’t know what the hell Cas told you about what’s going on with him. About his Grace? Er, well... not his Grace. Somebody else’s Grace.”

Claire’s heart drops for a moment at the mention of Castiel before she steels herself again, realigning the gun, “Am I supposed to care?” 

“No,” Dean replies easily, locking his eyes with hers. “I’m not expecting you to care or to forgive him or even to take me seriously, but I just...” He sighs again and runs a hand through his hair, “I just feel like somebody should tell you this and fuck me running if Cas is gonna be the one to do it.”

He leans against the doorframe and looks down at his boots as he kicks some imaginary dirt, “He’s dying. Cas is...” Dean takes a shaky breath and grips his forearm tightly, doesn’t say anything for a moment.

Like he’s collecting himself. 

“Cas is going to die. Soon, maybe - I don’t - I don’t really know. He won’t talk about it that much with me. I was kinda hoping he’d told you but - well, maybe he’s got a little more sense than I gave him credit for. Not really fair to dump this on you, I mean you’re just a kid...” 

Claire makes an involuntary squawking noise, “I’m seventeen and have been living practically on my own for years, fuck you very much.”

Dean smiles a little bit at his boots and looks up at her, “Touche.” 

Neither one of them says anything for a few minutes, both of them just sizing each other up, before Claire eventually clears her throat, “So, what? That’s all you came here to tell me? The guy who basically killed my dad and broke up my entire fucking family, ruined my life, is  _dying_?” 

Dean winces and Claire lowers the gun as she growls, “Forgive me if I’m not planning on giving a shit.” 

She turns around and sits back down on the bed, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. There’s that anger in her seething quietly, the one her mom always said that she got from her dad. 

The one that always gets her in trouble.

“I... I know that this is - this is kind of a dick move,” Dean says hesitantly after a few moments. “I -” He stands up straight and looks directly at Claire, “You hate Cas. I get it dude, I really do. I still hate him for a hell of a lot of things too. You’re right, he fucked up your life. Your dad said yes to this whole shitstorm but yeah, Cas could’ve found somebody else. Somebody who didn’t have a kid. Somebody who didn’t have everything to lose.” 

He runs a hand through his hair again and sighs, “I’m not asking you to forgive him. Shit, okay, please don’t - don’t forgive him right away. I’m not sure how you can forgive him though, after...” 

Dean shakes his head after a moment, “Shit’s about to go down. I’m... I - I’m dying. Maybe. I don’t - I don’t really know if I can die, actually.” 

Claire tenses at that and looks up at Dean, “I don’t care.” 

“Okay,” he nods, completely unfazed, “That’s fair.” 

He turns around for a moment in a small circle and scrubs a hand over his mouth, “Look, I just wanted to tell you this before something happens to me. Or to Cas. And this isn’t - this isn’t some emotional manipulation bullshit or whatever. I’m all for you hating Cas.” 

She snorts and shifts uncomfortably on the bed, “And the world’s Worst Best Friend Award goes to...”

“Fuck you,” Dean replies with no bite behind it - in fact, it sounds a little fond.

“Kid - Claire. I just...” He seems to commit himself to actually getting the words out because he straightens up, his whole body stiff as a board, and looks her in the eyes.

“Cas is stupidly old. Like, he’s older than the planet itself. It’s been a minute since I took science or whatever, I don’t remember how old the earth is exactly, but he’s - he’s really fucking old.” 

Claire bites the inside of her cheek to keep from saying anything about how her dad never got a chance to grow old.

“And I don’t think there’s anything that Cas regrets more than what he did to you, Claire.” 

Her head snaps up involuntarily and she glares at Dean, “Oh really, he fucking  _regrets_  ruining my life?” She snarls and grips the sheets on the bed, “ _Good_. I hope it haunts him for the rest of his miserable fucking life.”

Dean doesn’t really react to that, he just plows straight through what he’d spent the whole drive up here planning to say, “Claire, if there was any way that Cas could fix this - could go back and time and, and... pick  _anybody_  but your fucking dad. If there was any way at all that Cas could do that for you, could give you your parents back, he would. He’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“Shit,” he snorts a little and shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, “He’d probably go through the fucking apocalypse a second time if he had to. If he had enough mojo left, the dumb son of a bitch probably would’ve done it already.”

Claire feels like throwing up.

“And he doesn’t -” Dean clears his throat and looks down at his shaky hands before balling them up into fists, “He doesn’t want to replace your dad. Or your mom, or - or anything, really. He just wants to know that you’re safe.”

“I’m fine,” she replies robotically, her eyes on her bag where the picture of her with her parents is.

“I know you are,” Dean nods a little bit, “But Cas...” He sighs again and lets his head thud back against the door frame for a moment, “I don’t even think he cares if you hate him or not. I mean, I know he wants you to trust him at least, but I think - I mean, even if you hate him, but you let him help you sometimes, I think he’d be okay with that.” 

Claire shifts on the bed again, pulling her hoodie sleeves to cover her hands, “I don’t need any help.” 

Dean opens one eye and gives her an ‘I know you’re lying, dumbass’ look, “Maybe you don’t. But Cas just... if you ever do need help, he will be there for you.” 

“What if I don’t want him there?” She counters, mostly just out of the desire to be a little bit of a brat.

“Fucker will probably be there anyway,” Dean huffs a laugh, “He’s got a habit of that shit. Fucking off to god knows where when you want him around, shows up three inches from your face when you don’t.” 

Claire studies him for a moment since his eyes are closed.

She’s been out here, on the street, long enough to know that he’s telling the truth about - well, about everything. She also knows that he’s exercising a lot of self-control right now. Claire clears her throat and says coldly, “That it?” 

He hums and opens his eyes with a nod, “Yup, that’s it.” 

“Awesome,” she stands up again and walks closer to the door but stays out of arms length, “Now go the fuck away.” 

Dean smirks to himself and stands up straight, stepping out of the doorway, “As you wish, kiddo.”

He starts to walk down the hallway towards the stairs, his hands shoved in his pockets. She watches from the doorway warily, a weird feeling rolling around in her head.

“Dean!” 

He turns around at the end of the hallway and arches an eyebrow at her.

“Why’d you really come here?” 

Dean smiles a little sadly and shrugs, keeps his eyes on the stairs as cars drive past on the highway across the street, “He's worried about you.” 

Claire takes a moment to absorb that before she nods and promptly slams the door shut. Dean snorts.

 

* * *

 

> I still hate you. Claire

Cas blinks at the text message on his phone while he waits for Metatron outside of a gas station bathroom. It’s the first time he’s heard from Claire since she left.

> Okay. Cas  
> Dean Winchester found me. Claire

Again, all he can do is blink at the screen in surprise. 

> I did not ask him to do that. Cas

Metatron comes out of the bathroom whining about germs and how gross the bathroom was. Cas feels his phone buzz in his pocket but growls a little, grabbing the shorter man by the back of his neck and dragging him back towards the car. 

He drives another 300 miles towards the east coast and stops at the shittiest motel he can find. He might not need to sleep anymore but Metatron will and, apparently, he snores. Loudly.

The clerk gives him a look when he slaps cash down on the counter and says they need adjoining rooms, one without any windows. He hands over a key anyway.

Cas had slipped some benadryl in Metatron’s soda when they stopped for food and it kicked in just in time for Cas to push him face first onto a bed.

He had debated putting restraints on the man in case he woke up and tried to get away, but he decides against it and leaves the room after securing any and all possible exists (just the door). 

His room is almost identical to Metatron’s but there is a window looking out onto the parking lot.

Castiel sighs tiredly and takes his coat and his shoes off before sitting on the bed to check his phone. 

 

> I know. Claire  
> I still hate him too. Claire

 

He smiles despite himself and shakes his head fondly.

> Dean can be a difficult person to get along with. Cas  
> Yeah, especially since he’s a fucking *murderer*. Claire

Something twists in Castiel’s stomach and he cringes at the word choice. It’s not - it’s not... wrong, exactly. But he often wonders if that’s what Dean is to some people, what would that make him?

> Are you alright, Claire? Cas  
> Living the fucking dream. Claire

Fondness bubbles up in his chest and Cas feels a small smile tugging at his lips. Oh, how he wishes she had met Dean again under different circumstances.

> I am very glad to hear from you. Cas

It takes a few minutes for her to respond and by then, Cas is laying down in his bed with the TV playing low in the background. 

> Yeah. He said you were worried. Claire  
> It’s not your job to worry about me. Claire  
> I know. You can take care of yourself. Cas

She can’t, not really, and he knows it, but he also knows that children like Claire and Dean who grow up hard and heartbroken react poorly to being told they need someone’s help. 

> Cool, so stop worrying about me. Claire  
> I am afraid human emotions don’t work like that, Claire. Cas

He wants to ask if she should be in bed, considering it’s almost 2am, but it occurs to him after a moment that she might not have a bed right now.

He feels sick at the thought. 

> Are you really dying? Claire

Castiel stares at the screen for a moment, feeling caught off guard and a little cornered. 

> ...yes. Cas  
> It’s your Grace? Claire  
> In a matter of speaking, yes. Cas

A lump rises in his throat and he feels like he should be laughing at the fact that he very well might be having a small panic attack right now.

> Sucks to suck, I guess. Claire

He lets out a startled laugh and covers his mouth to quiet down.

> Lol, I suppose it does. Cas  
> Did you just type lol? Claire  
> [thumbs up emoji] Cas  
> Jfc. Claire

This conversation feels like it should be leading somewhere important and significant but Cas knows better than to ask. Claire will get there eventually, and it will work out better for the both of them if she gets there all on her own.

> You can like... text me or whatever. Claire  
> If you’re bored or crying your heart out about me, I mean. Claire  
> This goes both ways, [grandpa emoji]. Claire

Cas smiles despite himself and tries to ignore the hope bubbling in his chest.

> I would like that very much. Cas  
> Yeah yeah, you care about me or whatever. Claire  
> I’m still mad at you. Claire  
> That’s alright. I’m still mad at me. Cas

This time it takes her fifteen minutes to respond. Cas is flipping through channels, stopping every once in a while to marvel at the late night infomercials.

When his phone buzzes on the nightstand, he’s so distracted by the man spilling an entire milk jug on the television that he almost knocks it onto the floor. He does catch it, though, and opens up her text message while hanging half off the bed. 

> Whatever. Claire  
> Go to sleep asshole. Claire

Again, he smiles.

 

* * *

 

Dean’s phone buzzes where it’s sitting across from him at a table in the library.

He’s too keyed up to sleep, too on edge from his conversation with Claire, so he’s reading. He’s not reading anything about the Mark or for a case, he’s reading a book. A real, buy-it-in-Barnes-&-Noble book. 

It takes him a few pages before he gets to a part that’s boring enough that he feels okay reaching over to check his phone.

> Thank you. Cas

He feels his cheeks heat at the words and the Mark flares angrily on his arm, desperately wanting to squash any and all positive emotions.

> Any time, man. Dean


End file.
